The Lady & the Tiger
by CeeCeeSings
Summary: Directly following "The Grove" (S4E14). I hesitate to call this story "Caryl", but I suppose it could be perceived that way. My take on what happens when the two former confidantes meet again, after both losing so much. Carol's POV. Short, multi-chapter fic.
1. Ghost

**_"The hall remains,_**

**_It still contains_**

**_A pair of doors, a choice._**

**_Behind one door,_**

**_A muffled roar,_**

**_Behind the other, a voice." _**

_~ Frank R. Stockton_

_When you lose, and you lose, and you lose,_Carol thinks, shifting a sideways glance towards Tyreese, who walks alongside her, a cooing Judith bobbling at his shoulders, his sweaty face calm and closed. _When you lose so damned much. _She forces the tears she has no right to cry back down her throat. Tears that belong to Lizzie. Mika. Karen and David. All of them. _When you lose…_

And though the mantra keeps pounding in her head in time with their crunching steps over the railroad ties, Carol can't help herself; she takes stock of what she hasn't lost: Judith; her life, at Tyreese's hand; companionship and maybe friendship from him, which she's not entirely sure she deserves. The hope that some of the others might be at the termination point of this seemingly ceaseless track: Rick, Carl, Glenn, Maggie, Daryl.

Thinking about Daryl right now feels like a pointless indulgence. What they had, or may have had, given the right amount of time and circumstances…well they hadn't, and they didn't. She's not the broken mess of a woman who was startled and touched by a beautiful white flower in a beer bottle. She's not the woman who collapsed in Rick's comforting arms after hearing Daryl abandoned the group for Merle. She's not even the battle-hardened but confident woman who playfully teased flirtation out of him, bit by boyish bit.

She feels pared down to essentials now, the final layer of who she used to be scrubbed away by this life. Somehow, she is less surprised than she should be at what is under the baby-fat layers of the scared, scarred, battered wife she used to be. After all, that woman, too, was used to loss, and blood, and battles. She was used to survival.

"Beer nuts and deer nuts," Tyreese's voice rumbles over her thoughts. "Got any other good bad jokes? I could use one or two right about now." He glances over at her, almost smiles. Gratitude swells in her chest and she reaches back towards another life, searching for something to offer him. She smiles suddenly, remembering one. This one a silly pun Sophia had brought home from school one day. Her smiles shrinks a little, but doesn't completely fall off her face.

"Okay, here's a really terrible one," she says to him. "This kid swallows some coins and his parents rush him to the hospital." She pauses, and he raises one eyebrow. "His grandmother calls a bit later to see how he's doing, and the nurse tells her 'No change yet'". She keeps her face still and solemn.

Tyreese snorts a little, startling Judith, who slaps his back. "That was truly terrible." His mouth twitches up a little in the corner though.

"It was one of Sophia's," she replies, shrugs, fights back tears. Her daughter is just one more thing she'll carry around with her forever. She smiles a little at him and he smiles back, the ghosts of so many little girls between them.

"I have one," he says. "It's bad, but good-bad, if you get me." She nods, adjusts her pack a little. "So, these two cows are grazing in a field next to each other, and one turns to the other and says, 'Do you ever worry about mad cow disease?' The other looks startled, shakes her head and says 'Why should I? I'm a helicopter!'"

She wrinkles her forehead and it hits her. She starts giggling. "That...that was really, really terrible. And not even good terrible!"

Tyreese looks mock-affronted, and at that precise moment, Judith reaches up a chubby hand, whacks him on the back of his head, crows loudly - something that sounds like "'Ribble!"

Both of the adults are so startled they burst out laughing. Every time Carol thinks she's caught her breath, she gets an eyeful of Judith, sucking on her fist, grinning around her wet hand. Tyreese, still chuckling himself, stops walking and reaches a hand out to steady her. Carol can hear her laughter turning from mirth to hysteria, but it feels impossible to stop. The giggles turn to guffaws that hurt her stomach, then to hiccups and are on the precipice of becoming belly-deep sobs. _STOP._She bites down, hard, on her tongue, and the pain is sharp and clear and pulls her out of her spiral towards bone-deep sorrow.

She winces, spits out a mouthful of blood, which glistens on the metal tracks.

"Okay?" Tyreese's hand, still on her arm. His eyes, still on her face.

"Yup," she swipes one last time at her face, clearing it of those bodily fluids - blood, sweat, tears - humans are unable to keep inside. "Okay." They begin walking again, but get no more than a dozen steps forward when a voice rings out.

"Lookie-here," it's male, confident and cruel. "You all really need to learn how to keep yer voices down. Draw all kinds'a trouble in your direction, otherwise. The worst kind'a trouble."


	2. Monster

She spins around, along with Tyreese, both drawing their guns. There are three men standing on the tracks behind them, about thirty feet away, their own guns cocked. The guy front and center is about ten years older than her, with a long, horse-like, hardened face that might be handsome in different circumstances. The other two, younger men seem to fade into the background. The only guy that matters is this one. The others will follow his lead.

"Uh-huh," he shakes his head, grins at both of them. Carol feels something small and cold sink in her stomach. This is a very, very bad person. "Drop 'em, or I shoot the kid," he aims his gun at Judith, goggling around Tyreese's should. "And don't thinka movin', big guy, 'cept to drop that shooter of yours. I'll just shoot you, then the baby. And I won't shoot her in the head."

_Okay, I see,_Carol thinks, as the tiny, cold stone in her belly blooms and chills the rest of her. But she is focused now. On keeping herself alive. On keeping Tyreese alive. On keeping Judith safe, which might mean.._.not_ keeping her alive. She exchanges glances with Tyreese, who looks ready to fire.

"Tyreese, no," she whispers. "We need to listen to them." She turns her neck, gesturing with her eyes towards the knife she has in her boot.

"Yeah, alright," he replies, holding her gaze for a moment.

"Easy to see who wears the pants here," Horse Face chuckles. "Smart lady you got there, big guy." The hard sheen in his eyes belies his jocular manner. "Guns down, I won't say it again."

"Yeah, okay," she squats, along with Tyreese, starts to place her gun on the railroad tie in front of her. She keeps her eyes on Horse Face, all the nerves in her body strumming through the coldness that has fallen over her, looking for a way. Any way. Not to lose anything else, not today.

"Smart lady," Horse Face says again. "Smart, and you look like you can take care'a yerself, too. I think you'll be mighty useful, ma'am. Indeed. Don't you think, fellas?" The two lugs behind him nod and leer. Carol assesses Horse Face again. _It always comes down to this, man and woman._ _He's the only one who matters here...and you know him. He's Ed, with bigger balls. He's Merle without Daryl. The Governor, without grief and madness. He's pure meanness, for meanness' sake. He_enjoys _it. He's having a blast right now. _

"Guess I am," she replies. She drops the gun carelessly rather than placing it on the ground, startling everyone a little. She uses the split second she has to tuck the small knife Daryl gave her a lifetime ago up her jacket sleeve. It waits there, like the ace of spades. "Guess I am, and guess I do." She flashes a big smile at Horse Face. She knows there's power in that smile, and she's rewarded: he grins back at her as she and Tyreese both stand slowly.

"You're a sassy one, ain't ya? No little girl, you, no ma'am," Horse Face looks positively glee. "What's your name, darlin'?"

"Carol," she smiles back at him without an ounce of sincerity. "And this is Tyreese. The little one is Judith." Her voice almost, almost catches on the baby's name. Anything to remind this creature in front of her that Judith is a human being, not a liability.

"Well, Carol," Horse Face rolls her name around his tongue. "I'm Joe." _Horse Face suits you better, _she thinks. He doesn't bother introducing the others. They don't matter. "Come on over here and say hi to old Joe, what say you?"

"Sure," she replies, keeping the smile pasted on her face. "But let him take the baby, okay? Let them keep goin'. I'll stay here with you all, no problem, but let Tyreese go along with Judith." She struggles to keep the pleading out of her voice. She presents their release as practical, as the most logical course of action. Joe's icy eyes jump from her to Tyreese and the baby, considering.

"Carol…" Tyreese looks at her, at Joe. "This isn't the way." He says, and his eyes hold hers.

"Forgiven, but not forgotten, right?" She gives this man, who was and could have again been her friend, maybe even something more, a lopsided grin. "Atonement," she murmurs so the other men don't hear. "No more dead little girls, if at all possible. I'm not a monster." She's not sure if she's trying to convince him or herself.

"Now why would I do somethin' like that?" Joe's voice cuts through her reverie. The real monster.

"Think about it," she turns back to him, takes a step or two closer. "You could kill them, yes. But…well, I would be pretty upset with y'all if you did." She keeps her voice low and rational, like with Lizzie in the field. _Just look at the flowers. _"You could take me, sure. I'll admit, I couldn't stop you." She shrugs casually, moves a few steps towards them, putting some distance between herself and Tyreese.

"Something else," Joe mutters, chuckling. She's confusing him, which is good. She's holding his attention, which is even better.

"How I see it," she's locked eyes with Joe now. She lets the others fall away, even Judith's little sighs and noises. "How I see it, you let them go, no harm done to you. I come with you freely. Like you said, I can handle myself. I know how to survive. I can be a unique asset…" she tapers off, raises her eyebrow suggestively.

Joe sucks thoughtfully on his mustache, his gun slightly lowered. One of the other guys murmurs, "Shit," elbows his friend. Carol's heart slows. She nearly won, she thinks. The only thing lost today will be her.

And then Joe does something that genuinely surprises her. He turns and begins talking to the tangle of forest on the left side of the train tracks.

"Whatcha think, boy?" Joe calls out. "You heard her offer, and these other morons couldn't find their asses with their own two hands."

Carol watches the leaves dance wildly as the brush is pushed aside and three more men step onto the tracks. She has eyes only for the one Joe directs his question towards. Her heart booms under her breastbone. She's grateful Joe's turned away, doesn't see the joyful shock and recognition in her face.

"So, whatcha think? You just lost yerself a woman, and yer the only one with brains 'round here, 'sides me," Joe sounds almost fatherly, like he's presenting a birthday gift to a favored son.

"I think ya should take her up on it," Daryl replies. "Let the oaf and the baby go. Otherwise, you got a hysterical woman to deal with, hear me?" His eyes flutter, land on Tyreese and Judith. The men nod at each other. That's all. Daryl catches her eye, and there's so much sorrow and relief there she's almost drowning in them. She rips her gaze away.

"Maybe so," Joe replies. "Yeah, alright, maybe so. You think she's up to the task? You think she can take care'a us all?"

"Oh yeah," Daryl answers, adjusting his crossbow. "I think she can handle all'a us, no problem."

He catches her gaze again. And it's all Carol can do to keep from laughing.


	3. Hand

_There once was a semi-barbaric king, who ruled a semi-barbaric land._

_For his own amusement, he devised a unique method of judgment and punishment for notable crimes committed in his semi-barbaric kingdom: any man accused of such crime would be brought to a public arena, where he would be given a choice between two side-by-side doors. Behind one door, a young woman, befitting his station in life, whom he must immediately accept and marry, no questions asked. Behind the other, a ravenous tiger, with a taste for human flesh._

_Now, a tenacious young man stands in this arena. His (supposed) crime is being the lover of the king's own daughter. This princess is deeply in love with him, and she makes it her business to find out which doors his lady and tiger are behind. The lady waiting for him is, in fact, one of her own handmaidens, a girl she truly despises, now more than ever._

_When her beloved enters the arena, however, she nods without hesitation towards the door on the right, which he boldly moves towards. He is already lost to her, either way, to his lady or his tiger. So the question is, then, what was behind that door? To which fate did the princess (who, remember, was also semi-barbaric) send her love? The Lady, or the Tiger? _

oooOOOooo

"Well now," Joe sizes up Daryl, who squints at him, intentionally avoiding looking at her. She stays put, still unable to believe what's happening. Tyreese takes a few steps closer.

"Whoa," one of the nameless dudes aims his rifle at him. "No way, man. Stay right there. In fact, back it up."

Tyreese raises his hands, backs up a few paces. Judith continues to chew on her fist, spit distending from pink lips. "Way. Up!" She agrees.

Daryl turns towards the baby's voice. Carol sees: he cannot help himself. A dangerous softness spreads across his features while he gazes at her, and Carol wills him to get a hold of himself. She thinks back to Joe's words a few moments ago. _You just lost a woman…_Who? Who had Daryl escaped the prison with? Maggie? Michonne? Beth? Sasha? Or was it a fabrication, something created for this man, for Joe, who echoes his dead brother back at him? _No, he's lost something. Something…important to him. Someone. Something's weakened him, moved him backwards, into this bully's arms._

She has to act. The men cannot, not now, for their own reasons and fears. _Her_ men – Daryl and Tyreese – are waiting for her move. It's her game.

"Look," she says quietly. She holds both of her hands up, palms facing out, hoping the shaft of her knife is well-hidden. Daryl's eye flicker towards her wrist for a split second. Something close to a smile creeps onto his face, is instantly gone. He's not looking at Judith anymore. "Let me just…say goodbye, okay?"

She flashes a giant smile at Joe again, nods a little, hoping he'll mirror her actions. He does, but she's not sure how long she's got. He's mildly charmed by her, her boldness, perhaps even by the novelty of a living woman. But it won't last, and she knows it. _I've got about 30 seconds, tops._

Keeping this in mind, she crossed back to Tyreese, and kisses him full on the mouth, as if they are lovers parting. He starts, nearly recoils, then responds, briefly, places one large hand on her shoulder. Carol ignores the general pleasant sensations her body is sending her, simply from being this close to a man after a very, very long hiatus, breaks the kiss, and pretends to coo at Judith over her friend's shoulder.

"Double around," she breathes quietly. "Give it a few minutes, Daryl and I will act fast once they think you're gone." She brushes her hand across Judith's pink face one last time, steps back.

"Alright, enough," Joe's moved forward, and grips her upper arm like a vise. "I don't need a demo of the merchandise, if you catch my drift." He jerks his chin at Tyreese. "Go on, get outta here, Jim. Before I change my mind." Tyreese steps into the woods with one last glance, is gone.

And now it's just her, and these men, these boys. She just hopes she's right about which is which. Joe's grip tightens, and the bones in her forearm grind together in a familiar way. _A man for whom violence is a hobby, a pleasure, not a last resort._

"So, now what?" She looks up at him, absorbing his cold gaze. He doesn't appreciate she has her own coldness. The two clods behind him creep forward, look over his shoulder at her. She widens her smile to include them, senses Daryl at the leftmost corner of her vision, the two guys that had been keeping him company in the bush with their guns lowered, looking a little bored.

"A drink," Daryl says. "A toast, you might call it."

"Right on, man," one of the roughs behind him agrees, slaps his shoulder. "Like the wings, man, like the wings."

Now he's looking right at her, at Joe's hand cutting into her wrist. He pulls out a fifth of something clear, unscrews the cap.

"Ladies first," he says, passing it over to her. And Carol sees so many things in those eyes of his, the hurt, lost boy he'll always be, her once-savior, her friend, her would-be lover, the wounded animal licking his sores, Pookie, a man struggling with himself to be a man, to stay a man. She sees a chance. Joe's grip on her loosens, so she can reach out for the booze.

_Ladies first…_

They are all looking at her. In her thrall. All six of them. She locks eyes with Daryl, who nods. She takes a swig, and it burns going down, brings water to her eyes. She coughs a little, some of it a natural response, the rest a ruse. She doubles over, faking embarrassed laughter, slides the knife from its hiding place. She feels a warm hand on her back, pounding, grips the knife in her right hand and the fifth of moonshine in her right, her pair of aces.

She straightens up, and plays her hand. She hopes it's a winning one.


	4. Choice

_Carol remembers the story from Mr. Peters' sophomore English class. She knows that there's a point the story's trying to make – well, the writer, really – but she wonders, nonetheless: why doesn't the princess intercede on behalf of her beloved? Or plan a great, clandestine escape? She has more power that the lady OR the tiger. She is both, and neither, at the same time._

_Yet she sends her lover to his death or into another woman's arms. She chooses to lose him, one way or the other._

_While the entire time, she holds redemption in her hand. And not just redemption of her lover, but of herself. If she is only willing to make the difficult choice, and discard the ones others present to her. If only…_

oooOOOooo

She surges upwards, driving her knee into Joe's groin and splashing the moonshine into his now-widened eyes. Without pausing, she brings the knife down hard, driving it deeply into the hollow above his clavicle, and he gasps, the stumbles to the ground, cursing her in a spluttering voice.

Using her momentum, she launches herself on one of the lugs crowded behind Joe, splashing the leftover moonshine into his eyes. He howls like a puppy left out in the rain, staggers backwards, and she smashes the bottle over his head. His compatriot, mouth hanging open, stands motionless to his right, shocked by this sudden turn of events.

She moves towards him, raising one booted foot to kick his forgotten rifle out of his hand. She can hear the blunt end of Daryl's crossbow connect with one of the others' skulls just as Tyreese reappears out of the brush, Judith still in her papoose. The baby begins screaming as Tyreese pulls the final thug to the ground, but remains firmly situated in her carrier.

Carol's foot is about to connect with her target when a large hand grabs it, twists painfully, and she's suddenly on the ground, the right side of her face slamming into one of the sun-heated rails. Something in her cheek gives a little, like the earth shifting during a quake, and her vision is reduced to a white starburst for several seconds. She nearly loses her knife, feels it slipping from her fingers, grips at it desperately. Then she brings it back up in an arc, slamming it down almost blindly, contacting the rough material of Joe's pant leg and skimming his calf.

He's less than three feet from her, struggling to clear his vision of the blood from the wound in his neck and the alcohol when her knife strikes him again. His eyes are blazing with fury.

"Bitch," he chokes out. "Stupid bitch." He lifts his gun, trying to aim it at her throbbing face. He's a big man, and strong, driven by pure hate, but the wounds Carol's inflicted slow him down just enough. Just enough to save her life, she knows, because she's not moving so quickly herself.

She pushes herself into a prayer-like position, ignoring the grunts of the other men, ignoring Judith's terrified wailing, ignoring her cheek, which feels like a balloon filled with hornets, stinging from the inside out. She heaves herself forward, brings her knees down on both the gun and his hand, ignoring the pain, and Joe's surprised yells, and throws all of her insubstantial weight onto it, grinding his palm between her knees and the gun on one side, and the gravelly soil on the train tracks in the other.

He's slapping at her with his free hand, trying to buck her off, weakening. She looks down into his face without pity. Puts the knife through his right eye.

One of the easiest things she's done in a long time. A very long time.


	5. And Not Or

She pushes herself off of Joe's now-still chest, yanks the knife free. Wipes it on his garish, Western-style shirt. Attempts to stand, gets halfway up before the world puffs in and out, like a grey jellyfish. She sits back down, hard, on her victim, who makes a rude, post-mortem sound. One of the men from his group snickers nervously, eyes his fallen leader.

Daryl and Tyreese, their backs to her, have crossbow and gun aimed on all four them, kneeling on the ground. Judith, still hiccuping tears, slaps Tyreese's neck rhythmically. Only one of the men, one of the guys who had been hiding in the brush with Daryl, doesn't look worse for wear. The rest of them have been physically defeated by the ambush, emotionally defeated by Joe's death.

"Don't even think 'bout movin'," Daryl mutters, nods at Tyreese who holds steady. He turns towards her, proffers a filthy hand. She reaches up, grasps it, and he pulls her to her feet, where she wobbles drunkenly. _It's those damned wasps_, she thinks nonsensically. The side of her face is a mass of hot needles. She needs to take care of it, and soon, she knows from experience. The swelling is already compromising her vision.

She allows herself thirty seconds to look at Daryl, up close. He's jittery, sad, unfocused. He almost seems like the man-child who handed her the ax she put through Ed's ruined skull almost two years ago, not the nearly-confident leader she's gotten used to over the past several months. Had she really last seen him, what, less than two weeks ago?_We're all so easy to destroy, in so many ways._ She sees his eyes flicker over to Joe's prone form, and sees regret and relief in equal measure.

"Okay?" He offers her a sideways glance, looks away, raises his crossbow again at his prostrate former compatriots.

"No," she responds, then jogs a few steps to retrieve her gun. "No. And neither are you." She looks at him hard for second, but her refuses to turn towards her.

"Guys," Tyreese murmurs. "Can we do the whole reunion thing later?"

"Shit, man," one of the guys on the ground is looking up at them, a chubby guy with a scraggly mullet, his eyes going back and forth between the three of them. "Shit an' hell-fire. Y'all know this bitch, Daryl?"

Daryl begins grumbling, but she pushes forward, presses her gun to his sweaty forehead. "Always comes back to 'bitch' right? You all take it right there, every time," she shakes her head, regrets it immediately. Someone steadies her again from behind, she's not sure whom.

"Look," she continues, keeping her voice low and serious. "I'm not really interested in killing you, but if I have to I will, and probably won't be all that bothered about it." She pauses, swallows the creeping sensation of vomit at the back of her throat. "I _liked_ the the last three people I had to kill. I _loved _one of them. So you'd be really no big deal at this point, buddy." She senses rather than sees Daryl recoil at this news.

The guy suddenly loses steam. "Look, I don't wanna die, okay? Peace. Seriously, lady. Don't shoot me, alright?" And to her genuine surprise, he collapses in the dust and starts weeping. The other three immediately find the trees and sky very interesting. She steps back a little, shoves her gun into her waistband. She reaches out, grabs both Tyreese's and Daryl's arms so she doesn't join the weeper in the dust. Daryl doesn't look the least bit surprised.

"I need to sit," she manages. "And I need to talk to you, privately." She aims this at Daryl.

"I got this," Tyreese responds. "They don't seem so big anymore, do they, Jude?" At the sound of her name, Judith crows nonsensically, grabs Tyreese's ear, pulls. He smiles just a little.

Daryl's got her arm, leads her to a large stone at the side of the tracks about twenty feet from the rest of them. She nearly collapses onto it. He crouches so they're eye-to-eye.

"Doesn't look so hot," he murmurs, "We gotta get salts, Tylenol, something cold on it, sooner than later, or you ain't gonna be seein' outta that eye for awhile." She nods in agreement.

"You're looking okay," she tries to smile at him. "On the outside, at least." He stares at the ground, his face mobile with grief and anxiety and, she knows, real joy in finding them again.

"Couldn't believe it when I heard yer voice, from the trees," he glances back at Tyreese towering over the three supplicants. "Thought I was just losin' it, tryin' to make myself feel better..." he trails off. His face is a tight mask of sadness, and she knows something, now.

"Who was it? The woman? Maggie? Michonne?" The "m" sounds hurt her face, the women's names hurt her heart.

"Beth," he says the name like a sigh. "We cleared outta the prison, the two us wound up together. Lived rough, finally found a decent place to hole up. Then it all went to shit, of course." And now she knows, if only because of how much he's talking: the girl kept him going, somehow. She had been sunshine to the bent flower of his soul: bright, simple, nourishing. Uncomplicated in the light she carried in her youth and beauty.

"Walkers?" She asked. "Those barbarians?" She hoped it was the former.

"Nope," he shakes his head, traces in the dirt with a jagged nail. He explains about the abandoned bag, the cross-bearing car speeding off. "Just gone," he finishes, wiping his tracings clean.

"Nothing we can do then," she offers it reluctantly, almost like a question.

"No," he looks at her for the first time. "Guess not." He stops, unsure, it seems. "You killed Karen and David, didn't you?"

The coldness returns to the pit of her stomach. "Yes. I had to," she fights back tears she knows will burn coming out, for many reasons.

"I told Rick, right before shit went down, you couldn'ta done it," he's dropped his gaze again. "But you did. You did it. Ty knows?"

"Yes, I did, and yes, he does," and now the threat of tears is completely gone, because she needs him to hear this, hear her. "I did it to save others. You, Rick, Carl, Maggie, Glen, Hershel, Michonne. The virus wasn't going to stop just because we _wanted_ it to. Nothing was working, and the medicine was going to show up too late for some people. Karen and David were going to die, painfully and slowly, and so were others, if someone didn't do something about it. You, Rick, almost everyone still alive today has done something in the past two years they aren't proud of; same here. I'll live with their deaths forever." She pauses, looks at him again, stand up. "I had to kill Lizzie."

"No."

"Yes. Her mind...was broken. She was dangerous. She killed Mika," and it's strange, because she was worried about how bad these tears were going to sting, but they actually feel wonderful rolling down her face, like a warm bath.

"Jesus," he rubs his hand across his face. "I'm sorry." He puts his hand on her shoulder. His look is awe-struck and awful. "Beth...Beth is probably dead."

"I hope so," she replies, though she knows he wants her reassurance otherwise. "Because I am not sure how she'd survive whoever took her. She doesn't have a mean bone in her body." She sees tears creep into his eyes, reaches out a shaky hand to touch his face. To claim him, again.

"Uh, guys," Tyreese hollers at them. "What's the plan here? How are we disposin' of the garbage?"

"Joe's the only thing that kept 'em dangerous," Daryl mutters. "He's right, they can't find their asses with a flashlight and a map. We don't need to kill them."

"No, we don't," she replies, and they start walking back. "I'm not a monster." She looks at him again. "We'll strip them of everything - and I mean everything - down to their birthday suits. Give them some time to find those asses that seem to elude them so frequently."

Daryl let's out a bark of utterly surprised laughter, and she grins a little through the pain in her cheek. Nothing seems permanently broken, then.

"Alright, fellas," Daryl starts, aiming his crossbow at them. "I'm_ clamin'_ everything every one a'yous got on your person. Take it all off, now. Then yer gonna saunter into those bushes and go find yerselves a stocked house somewhere, I guess. Ain't gonna ask twice. The alternative is letting her provide another option," he jerks his chin at Carol. His eyes, still cloudy, but clearing. He's awake now.

"You definitely don't want that," Tyreese responds, chuckles. "Chop, chop, _Jim_."

"In front'a her and everything?" One guy whines. _Not someone good at seeing the big picture_, Carol thinks, struggles once again against laughter. _This life, this crazy, weird life. _

"I'll turn around, okay?" And she does, standing with her back towards them, between Ty and Daryl, making faces at a now-calm Judith, who chuckles down at her over Tyreese's shoulder.

"She's a _lady_," Daryl expounds, sounding more cheerful than he has since he first spoke. "Something you cretins don't understand." He squints in her direction, and she turns her head obliquely to catch his eye.

"Do you really believe that? After all of this?"

"I know ya got a few mean bones in your body, if that's what yer gettin' at," he turns back to the fumbling thugs, urges them to hurry up. "Maybe ya ain't exactly a lady, but you ain't no monster, either." He gazes at her again, almost as if he's never seen her before. "Or maybe you're both. You're Carol." He shakes his head, almost as if to clear it.

"Yes," and it seems she had at least one more tear left. it slides down her unscathed cheek.

"Yes," he replies, a trace of a smile on his face. "Yes." He places his hand on her shoulder again, and she's glad for the weight of it there. She doesn't need it, but she wants it. And that makes her glad.

~Fin~


End file.
